


Halcyon Days

by lavenderforluck



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art School, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Boys with feelings, Depressive period, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Zukka Week, Zukka week 2020, dream like reality, long haired zuko sue me, oh my god they were roommates, surrealness on main
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22421419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderforluck/pseuds/lavenderforluck
Summary: We talk like roommates \ Bleeding night into dawn - Robert Lowell. Sokka's convinced his new roommate doesn't actually exist. Until he does. AU.
Relationships: Aang & Katara (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Sokka
Comments: 20
Kudos: 118





	Halcyon Days

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is. Procrastination? My weird love for this ship and a show I saw way too late in life? Whatever the reason, I hope you like my answer to the Zukka Week 2020 prompt: roommates. 
> 
> I took some liberties, such as how and when the war ended, as well as the entire plot line of Zuko becoming part of the Gaang (I know, I know, how could I, when that's the best part!) - this is an alternate universe of the canon, but not a modern AU. And don't worry, Zuko will forever be part of the Gaang in my heart. 
> 
> The inspiration behind this arrived in the form of a lot of lo-fi music, pastel sunsets, mysterious bouts of heavy rain, the idea of art bending academies, the heavy, mystifying ambivalence of loss and war, Sokka as an experiment in writing Positive Masculinity, and Zuko being - well, just as provoking and surprising as his canon character, and equally lovely to try to write as he is to watch. 
> 
> ~ warning for a depressive episode, nightmares, post-war trauma mentions
> 
> I hope you can forgive my spelling mistakes. Thank you!!

_This is how it ends, a courageous boom_  
_And it's awful sad that two lovers bloom_  
_I am starting to see stars and moons_

_Stars & Moon - Dizzy_

-

Sokka found himself at Uncle Iroh’s tea shop for the third time that week.

Outside it was pouring rain, soaking him on his bike back from his first day working. He was the new assistant to this frankly bizarre enigma that was Professor Bumi. It had been a harrowing day, to say the least; the in class explosion gone slightly awry happened to be the least of his worries. 

He ran through his chaotic day. First trying to extinguish a fire and ending up soaked by an eager first year waterbender, then getting lost twice in the surreal jungle that was Bumi’s office, not to mention stubbing his toes at least a dozen times. He always forgot to watch where he walked, and earthbending academies were like moveable beasts of their own. No one blinked if a random couple bolders appeared out of nowhere in the hallway through the course of one day.

But this was all far less unpleasant than receiving the news, by a very sympathetic Toph Beifong, for once - that she was no longer looking for a roommate.

“Oh,” he deflated, his wet bag slapping on a chair next to him. He sunk down and sighed, and Toph couldn’t see his face but she could feel it certainly, and her mouth became a thin line. 

“The one bedroom in the inner ring turned out to be a better offer. I know you were vying for the other one - but I just returned to BaSingSe, and my parents….”

They're barely begun to talk to each other again. Sokka didn't want to ruin that for her.

“It’s okay. I get it.” He shook his head. She didn’t have to say more. He understood. It was a longshot, anyhow; considering their budgets, and in Toph's case, the restrictions imposed by their backgrounds. 

“Luckily for you, we’re friends and I have already hatched a back up plan for you,” she folded her hands together, the perfect ironic imitation of a hard talking boss. 

He considered her warily. “Which is…. what exactly, Toph?”

“Well,” Toph paused for effect. At that moment, Uncle Iroh himself moved from behind the counter with a full tray of tea. It steamed heartily from three small cups. 

Sokka raised a polite salute, though it was a little too hot to drink yet. “Thank you, sir.”

“Please,” the old man bowed slightly, “It’s my pleasure to enjoy tea with anyone who comes into my shop.”

“That, and Uncle has a room for rent,” Toph announced proudly. Sokka paused. She waved her hand between them. “Consider this your interview.”

“Ah,” Sokka’s mouth went dry. He sipped the tea slowly, and then smiled. “Great tea,” he said, for lack of anything. Then he shrugged out of it. “So - what kind of place are we talking?”

-

The rain did not relent when he biked back to Katara’s that evening, belly full of tea and small rice biscuits. There was something like a little blossom of hope budding in his stomach. 

Katara and Aang lived in a stately apartment in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Ba Sing Se, which made a little sense given Aang’s status as the Avatar. It was an area - beautiful and pristine as it were - that made Sokka's skin crawl. 

Upon his ascension of the Avatar in the century of Peace, Aang led mediations, conducted his writings and arranged his philosophical agendas for world unity in a modest, yet somehow impressive office in the front quarter of their apartment.

On the walls were rows of strange scrolls and ancient texts and decrees organised chaotically on the walls, amongst with numerous other notes and letters and gifts which related to the Avatar. It was a warm open space encased by a large window overlooking a luminous garden, droopy willow trees and lush fauna to marvel endlessly at, far away in thought. 

In the back quarters were another set of rooms, including plenty of sleeping quarters and a kitchen and ample living spaces. Katara's art spread throughout the place like the thread holding them all together. In the back there was a large room made of glass - as per the fashion in the Earth Kingdom, Katara readily informed him - which was becoming a rare vegetation habitat.

His first thought was how overwhelming moist it must get sometimes, amongst all the strange and rare plants basically growing on top of each other.

Of course he demanded as to what their reasoning was for doing so; as they were not particularly fussed about plants in general. Katara notably said nothing, and Aang put it vaguely as some kind of favour ‘for an old friend conducting research on rare species’ - sounded like some kind of accidental rash poisoning waiting to happen for Sokka. He kept a safe distance.

He slept on the sofa in the second living area with the east facing windows, which was often where Katara worked, much to both their annoyance.

She was in water art academy; art schools were relatively normal avenues for benders who weren't being trained for war. After a childhood of post-war conflict and following the Avatar on a world peace journey, Hakoda released both of them from actively participating in politics. 

Likewise, Sokka attended the earth academy of Ba Sing Se. Of course, Sokka wasn’t a bender - and whether or not he was even an artist according to the Earth Kingdom art world, was up for debate - but most of the time he didn’t bring this up. Neither did she. 

“Hey, sis, we have anything to eat? I’m starving,” he grumbled, stepped out of his shoes and his damp socks. Yuck. 

“Check for yourself, you know where the kitchen is,” she replied without hesitation.

Large basins sat sloshing with swirling rings of ink and water. His sister sat with her knees folded under her, twirling her fingers in minute movements to slowly extract water from the dyed suminagashi paper. This one in particular was all spasm of different icy blues, distorted in such a way that it reminded him of ice. 

There was indeed a decent serving a leftover rice and tortoise bean stew, without a doubt a vegetarian recipe Aang concocted. Just as expected, the moment he sat down again, Momo appeared out of thin air to investigate exactly what he was eating.

“So, good news, I think I have a lead on an apartment,” he told her profile. Between half chewed bites he added. “Well, to be honest, he sort of already offered to show the place tomorrow, and if I like, I can sign an agreement with him and I’m in, baby. Second ring with enough space for my studio, can you believe that?”

“Wow,” that finally got her attention. “An apartment in the second ring, with work space - in your budget? I don’t know, can I believe it?” She ruminated. “Well, of course, it’s possible if there’s a roommate.”

“He didn’t mention anything about a roommate.” Sokka frowned. The offer - Uncle Iroh as a well meaning old man with an adorable tea shop aside - was slightly too good to be true. 

-

It was better than good. It was perfect. 

The house was at the end of a long, beautiful road lined with cherry blossom trees, a speciality of Ba Sing Se. In the low afternoon light it continued to pour. Each of the apartments were tall and terraced, except for Iroh’s, which resembled an oddly dated bathhouse, with long rows of windows and a wooden deck that wrapped around the entirety of the place. 

It’s wooden trellis’ was overgrown with wisteria and dragon lilac, their overwhelming perfume causing him to feel slightly drunk. The bedroom was modest and full of west facing windows, which he appreciated. It was more or less as Iroh described it.

But it was at the back of the house which revealed the real shining jewel. At first he couldn’t believe his eyes. Extended beyond the kitchen was a huge empty atrium. Only random stone statues, half concealed in sheets littered the tiled floor. And - Sokka nearly screamed - there was a spirit-forsaken kiln in the corner. It’s vaulted glass ceiling could only be better viewed by the lofted space above the kitchen, and he and searched for a door that led to the room above. But none were apparent.

Even in the waning afternoon sun, the light was incredible, and the space ample enough to hold both the tools and workspace necessary for his sculptures and clay. Besides, he wouldn’t have to rent a separate space, or bother lugging all his supplies to the nearby art center for ceramicists. Unsurprisingly, that place was always crawling with self-satisfied firebenders, and Sokka tried to keep clear at the whiff of bad vibes. 

Alongside a generous bath, an outdoor koi pond and luscious garden - _what_ \- and a reasonable kitchen. 

The place held the distinct feeling of having not been lived in for a long time, but he squashed that thought before it led anywhere. Sure, it was a little old school, but Iroh was clearly generous enough to give such a fair price to a young guy like Sokka. 

Almost too generous.

“So, that’s it?” They finished in Sokka’s new room again. “What about the upstairs?”

“Ah,” Uncle paused. “Yes. That is where my nephew lives, but he has his own quarters up there, and will not bother you. You only share the front entrance.”

So it technically _was_ Sokka’s living space, and - that was fair. He was almost comforted by this being the only catch. At least it wouldn’t be something else even crazier later. 

“Oh - right,” he said. He tried to sound nonplussed. “Well, I'm easy going. I’m sure we’ll get along great.”

“I have a feeling,” Iroh nodded knowingly, and the next moment his expression suddenly aged, his sage eyes faraway and unseeing. “The inner symmetry of our being rests in the outer expression of the lives we lead, but if we listen closer, we can trust the fated arrow will leads us towards our true destiny.”

Dazed, he nodded. The fated arrow has certainly placed him here, with this bemusing man, stout and lavish in green robes. 

But Uncle does not continue, and something inside of him realises this is his opportunity to pass whatever test he’s been set. He decides to trust his gut, and take a guess. 

“Because it lives in - us?” 

Uncle evaluates him quietly. 

“It lives in the symmetry,” Iroh finally relents, nodding, and Sokka sighed. He promised to be more thankful, at least most of the time, for Aang and his meditations. “The inner and outer are always connected.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “I can appreciate some inner destiny.”

The old man only smiled. From his pocket, he withdrew a set of long keys, dropping them neatly in Sokka’s outstretched palm.

-

The next morning, the rain abided long enough for him to move his measly belongings from Katara and Aang’s, who left early to the Fire Nation for some planned council communication thingy Katara had definitely told him about at least a hundred times - but at least Momo seemed to notice he left. 

Toph met him at the front gate with an intimidatingly large crate. He didn’t waste time asking how she knew where his address was. He figured she’d had a cup of tea between now and the last they saw each other. 

“Toph,” he greeted her. “What’s that you have there?”

“Your studio,” she said nonchalantly. “Or. Well, your studio stuff - plus some things I found lying around.”

“You found?” He could feel his eyes widen. She shrugged with a small, innocent grin, which meant that he should stop asking questions, so she wouldn't have to lie.

“You can thank me later, Buck-o,” she said, lifting the box with relative ease, and led Sokka into his own house. 

“I thought we agreed Buck-o was not the right fit,” he said helplessly, but nonetheless followed her in.

Sokka unpacked his bed roll and coverings, and put his clothes away in the cupboard. The only other thing he took was one of Aang’s Pixie trees, which he set on the window sill. Someday it would grow to be a fully fledged tree no taller than the length of a scroll. Aang had an entire colony of them in different stages of growth in his office. He wouldn’t mind if Sokka rehomed one. 

“So where’s your roommate?” Toph asked, smirking as she relaxed on top of a stone work table that was clearly not Sokka’s before this. Overwhelmed by the existence of his new workspace, he failed to criticise it.

“Did Uncle Iroh mention that?” He asked, surprised. The way he had told Sokka, like a reluctant confession, made him feel like it wasn’t exactly common knowledge. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I can tell someone is upstairs,” she jutted her chin to the loft. It remained dark. 

“You can?” He scratched his head. “Of course you can. Well, apparently it’s his nephew, and we technically only share any entrance, and he has his own apartment up there - ”

“Uh-huh,” she seemed more smug than warranted. “Does his nephew know you’re gonna be making a ton of noise?”

“It’s not that much noise,” Sokka pouted. He gazed longing at his ceramic wheel, notably less worn than he remembered. “Just - involved.” 

“Whatever the deal is, it’s a sweet one, Buck-o. And next week, you get help me move, as a way to return the favour!” 

-

Almost overnight, Sokka was moved in and began to make use of his studio.

It was amazing to have all this unfettered space. The windows milked every ounce of sun that existed in the cloudy, capricious temperament of the Earth Kingdom, and he basked in the knowledge that he could actually take breaks to eat or go to the bathroom without being paranoid about losing valuable time or being rushed out of the ceramic center right at evening. 

By the time it was undeniably night, lying on his sleeping pad under his window, the balmy leaves brushed up against the glass like fanned eyelashes, and he fell asleep watching them dancing in the shadows. 

Rain echoed in the background of everything here, it seemed. It never relented, until Sokka learned to expect it. The two days a week he held with Professor Bumi and his studies kept him working on his projects for long hours.

Even when he tiptoed around his wheel in the morning before he had to leave, it never seemed to bother or arouse his roommate. In return there was only more silence. The loft remained dark.

Most of the time Sokka paid it no mind. Only occasionally would he think he’d catch a glimpse of a shadow. A glint of the glass playing tricks, surely. A flicker of light so faint it must be an imagined one. 

-

He still visits Uncle Iroh’s tea shop, as it really is the best and most reasonable tea in Ba Sing Se. He greets Sokka heartily, but by chance or design, never seems to have the time to ask him about the apartment. In a way, this worked out better. Except, in the last few days - it has started to edge on his nerves.

It’s just - it’s been at least - a full moon cycle since Sokka’s moved in, and he’s not seen or head of this roommate. It was becoming a little weird, all in all. Didn’t this guy leave? At least to fetch food? Or - light a candle, maybe? It was Katara’s fault. She started asking him all these questions and filling his head with paranoia. 

He also understands where she’s coming from. They grew up in the aftermath of the last great war, their childhood collateral damage to the political reconciliation process Chief Hakoda, and now Aang - were constantly elbow deep in. The wounds they carry weren’t always their own. Some were inherited. 

That night, after a long, winding conversation with Aang and his sister, which opened and closed several elusive philosophical doors throughout its duration, he returned to his home at the end of the cherry blossom road. He stopped at the gate.

He was surprised to find a light flickering in the far left upstairs window, but there it was, doing exactly that. Proof. 

-

It took him another three days since the Light-Night incident, as Sokka was starting to refer to it in his head, to work up the courage to do something. 

It was time to act. He’d had quite enough. His imagination began to spin when he was lost in his work, most of his concentration channelled through his hands and fingers, leaving his thoughts free to roam. He wondered about the appearance of this roommate, for one. He tried not to picture him as a younger, but equally plump and chummy Iroh. He wondered how old he was, or if he was a bender or not. He wondered what his name was. That would be a start. 

Sokka decided that if he wasn’t going to accidentally run into the guy - and he’d been trying, just short of actually sleeping against the front door - then he’d leave him something to find. 

On a silt stained piece of scroll, he wrote out in his best block letters. _I’m your new roommate. My name is S O K K A_. His name always looked different in the Earth Kingdom alphabet. 

He paused. What the fuck was he supposed to even say? He thought of how his father would break the ice in situations of tension - pun intended - by being funny. 

Sokka was good at funny. Some might even say it was his most prominent quality. After a pause he scribbled down what he thought would either be a hilarious joke or a terrible one - but either way, if this guy was at all reasonable, it would provoke at least some kind of response. 

_Why did the Turtleduck cross the road?_ He wrote in his best print. He drew a small turtleduck, its eyes comically huge and with a cartoon smile. He made sure all his O’s were equally rotund so his point was to be understood with tongue-in-cheek.

He tacked it up onto the front door. On the back, he wrote: _to get to the otherside!_

Foolproof.

-

Sokka was beginning to doubt the nature of his plan when his note remained up on the door the next day. And the day after that. He couldn’t tell, obviously, if it had been read - but over the course of a few days there was no response and no sign of his roommate, so he figured that maybe it wasn’t so foolproof as he thought. 

Whatever spark of determination to figure out who he lived with had fizzled out over the course of another busy week. Classes were looming to their end soon. Lately he seemed to always arrive home long after the sun had set, and the hazy pink Earth Kingdom sunsets faded into a melancholy purple, and the shadows of the cherry blossom trees created skeletons on the road. 

That night, shucking his rain jacket and dropping his bag in his room, hands caked with clay or dirt or stone - he didn’t bother to wonder - he went to the kitchen in search of some leftovers from the bodega from the night before. 

As he’s pulling out his pathetic half-eaten sandwich from yesterday from the icebox, his eye catches on something sitting on the counter. It registered right away that it was not his. At once he moved to examine it closely. 

It was tiny - no bigger than the size of his thumb. He picked it up to see it in the candle light - and with a flip in his gut, realised he was holding a glass figurine. 

It was a turtleduck.

When he backtracked to his front door - a strange niggling in his gut, one which wasn’t just the hunger - he found it bare. The note was gone.

Somewhere deep inside of him, without Sokka even really being aware of it, grew the beginnings of a strange feeling he would come to associate with this house. There wasn’t even a name for it. 

-

He returned with renewed gusto the next morning. The turtleduck found its new home sitting under the Pixie tree, and it reminded him of Suki. He realised he hadn’t thought of her recently, and it was bittersweet. 

When he turned seventeen, Chief Hakoda took him along for a political tour on Kyoshi Island. Sokka, barely introduced to real society, having bypassed the days of trying to keep up with his newly adult body, and his cracking voice, and the heartsickness which plagued him after he lost Yue, was eager to prove himself.

One day he saw Suki from afar, in the courtyard at the palace, practicing her fighting. He was aghast and intimidated by her warrior makeup and immediately confronted by the weight of his attraction.

A lot has changed since then. He wonders if she still puts little figurines in her houseplants. 

-

If he spent longer than necessary drawing a new note - this time with his class pens, and a little more dignity - it was only because it would surely instigate more of a bigger response, and then he could stop obsessing so much about living with a ghost.

Toph sat across from him, her hands folded behind a cup of tea, irregularly quiet. They were in Uncle Iroh’s tea shop after a particularly grueling metalworking class, and in part to escape the torrential downpour that seemed to unload on them every day at sundown. 

“What are you drawing?” She finally asked. 

“A cartoon,” Sokka replied. “For my roommate.”

“Oh?” Toph looked surprised. “I totally forgot about that. How’s it going, anyway?”

“It’s not,” Sokka sighed. “I can hardly prove the guy even exists, if it weren’t for that one night I saw his light on. And I’m starting to think that I dreamt that up anyway.”

“Uncle wouldn’t make him up, though,” she pointed out.

Yes, he knew this. “Yes, I know.”

He looked down at his cartoon. It was a noticeable improvement. Though Sokka wasn’t a draftsman, necessarily - he was still in art school. 

_Thanks for the turtleduck,_ it read. Below it he drew his Pixie tree and the little figurine in the dirt with a large arrow to illustrate he made a place for it. He wondered where someone would find such a thing. 

He decided to write more about himself. Part of him wanted to acknowledge the fact that they hadn’t met yet - even after a full moon cycle and a half - but he decided to refrain. There was something in him that didn’t want to risk spooking him.

 _I used to think otter penguins were the cutest baby animal out there,_ he added. He drew one from the numerous memories from his childhood. _But now I’m torn that maybe the turtleduck wins out._

He drew a cartoon version of himself with a turtle duck and otter seal on either side of him, exaggeratedly torn between the two. 

Toph finished her tea. “Enough, Sock-o. Tell me what you wrote, or the suspense just might kill me.”

“Uh - why do you care?” He frowned, suddenly caught out. “And - really, Toph? Sock-o?”

"You said Buck-O wasn’t going to fly,” she returned. “I like Sock-O.”

“You might as well just call me Sokka!” He sputtered. 

She shook her head. “No, just doesn’t have the same ring to it. We need something _catchy_.”

-

It was the first night in a long time that he finished before sunset, and on a late-afternoon caffeine high, he wanted to rush back to work in the dying light before it was too late.

“Sokka?” His stomach dropped at the sound of his name held in that voice, and he paused, steadying himself before turning around.

He was coming out of the main arts academy building and there she was. They stopped at the door. Faceless strangers merely moved around them.

The sky was a creamy orange, the sun low behind the trees. The rain had abandoned for half an hour now, though the gray clouds hovered stubbornly, only emphasizing the surreal absurdity of the moment. Suki’s image came into view. Just seeing her face overwhelmed him, at once unknowable and achingly familiar. Her hair was longer and swept sensibly away from her bright eyes. 

“How are you?” She asked kindly. “You look - good.”

“Ah. You too,” he answered awkwardly. She read the tone in his voice and frowned a little before her expression went neutral. “I’m - okay. You?”

“I’m okay too,” she answered, now just as awkward. He started to feel terrible. Of all the ways he imagined them running into each - it was not like this; exhausted, wearing his dirty clay clothes, his hair unwashed and jaw unshaven. 

“So - uh, what are you - ?” He asked, aimly for friendly. Last he had heard through Toph was that Suki taught at the warrior academy in a city a considerable distance from Ba Sing Se. That was sort of the point.

“I’m - well. It’s actually really embarrassing.” Horrified, he watched her cheeks flushed red. A million terrible possibilities ran through his head. “I’ve been in Ba Sing Se for a couple of weeks, for work - and I was supposed to have a date tonight. I’ve been waiting outside the academy for - well. I was just about to leave. But then I saw you.”

“Oh,” Sokka sighed. “I’m sorry. What a jerk.”

It was strangely comforting to see her in a vulnerable place, while frankly disturbing to picture her on a date. Was it her first date? Was she really dating already, and with a lot of people, or just one? He squashed that thought before it became a monster. 

“It happens,” she shrugged. “I’m going to the exhibition anyway. I’ve heard a lot about from the host family I’m staying with. Apparently it’s really special.”

“Art waves being created in Ba Sing Se?” Sokka chuckled, a little humorlessly. “Seems like every other week someone’s making ripples with some new unique and amazing creation.” 

“Well, I live in a warrior town, with few artists,” she smiled. “Would you - want to come along? If - that wasn’t weird?”

It was very weird, but he immediately wanted to do it anyway. “Yeah, if they don’t mind that I’m showing up like this - ” he gestured to his studio clothes, covered in paint and dried silt and glaze. 

Suki only laughed, and the sound awoke a fluttering in him again; the wings of one singular somber butterfly. 

-

Later, guided only by the whistle under his breath and the crescent moon, he found his way home. Images of the night filed through his brain. 

The exhibition was on the ancient lost art of scale models and their historical contribution of the urban structure of Ba Sing Se. The one on display was a sprawling, three room model of the city, complete with an inner and outer wall. The attention to detail almost made his back winge in sympathy; every civilian, cabbage cart, road or river that cut through the rings of the biggest city in the Earth Kingdom was crafted in astounding accuracy. There was even a little replica Uncle Iroh’s tea shop in the second ring. 

And then there was Suki. He endured the sharp pangs of buried grief surfacing at random. He resisted acknowledging the metallic taste of longing in his mouth. He tried not to stare too long. She seemed less equipped to do so than he, which alleviated a little of his anxiety. At least they were both still affected by each other.

Either way, Sokka enjoyed it immensely. It had been a while since he had forgotten what it was like to be tired; or harassed by the dwindling daylight, or browbeat by the wind and the rain on his way back to an empty, haunted house, only to face the mounting piles of unfinished projects every night. For once he could just be. 

She had that effect, he ruminated. It was one of the things he always loved about her. 

That night, forgoing his work, he slept a dreamless sleep.

-

She was there the next day too, outside the academy. This time her hair was fashioned in a more stylish Earth Kingdom style, and it struck him as far more - feminine - than he was accustomed to seeing Suki. She looked lovely. 

He waved at her, hesitant. Was she getting stood up again? His hands were blistered and sore from the long day shifting stone heads around Professor Bumi’s office. It was a labyrinth of ancient art, stone statues, and abundant wilderness, plants growing out of the cracks in the walls and their numerous vines enjoyed playing petty tricks on Sokka when he was trying to focus. 

“Hey!” Her face broke into a luminous smile. “You hungry?”

Over dinner - spicy Fire Nation fusion cuisine found in the hip neighborhood of Ba Sing Se - relaxed in her company and reminiscing about the ‘good old days’ of endless political strife echoing for years after the war. Back then they’d been teenagers primed for battle when it was unclear as to whether to peace would hold. 

Now they were here, attempting to be young adults in a tentative world of peace, with regular-people hobbies and regular-people problems. Suki was one of the few in his life, besides Katara and Aang, who understood how bizarre and difficult this transition was. 

Still, part of him resisted opening up his heart again. The break up, though far enough behind them now, still hit him in a very soft spot. 

“I’m travelling back tomorrow,” Suki informed him as they walked back toward her host family's home. Sokka didn’t say anything. He expected this.

They shared a pregnant pause when they arrived at the front garden, their fingers nearly touching where they gripped the gate. Somewhere in the reeds, a band of singing groundhounds hummed their baleful tune. 

“It was good to see you,” she said. “Really. I - I still care about you a lot, Sokka. You were a huge part of my life. You know?”

“Yes, I do,” he admitted honestly. “And I feel the same way.”

She closed the space between them and they kissed. Her mouth was a beloved memory, and for a moment it transported him back in time.

“I hope we can be friends someday.” She said when they parted. Her eyes were shining a little in the blue lantern above. He smiled, and meant it. Then when they parted ways.

A small part of him was relieved to know that he still loved her, and perhaps - he always would; but now he could accept it. In time it would hurt less, and perhaps they really have a future together, as friends. It was a startling realisation, a brand new perspective, and one that, for once, was as hopeful as it were daunting. 

-

In the flurry of Suki’s random touchdown back into his life - something he had assure Katara and Aang multiple times that he was actually okay about - he had momentarily forgotten all about the roommate situation. 

It was not until early the next morning, after he fell asleep in his studio on the ground, head pillow in his arms and a soft wool blanket on top of him, that he remembered him again. His body ached from the floor but at least he wasn’t cold. Then he realised. The blanket was not his. He didn’t recognise it. Nor did he bring one with him to his studio space, because he hadn’t planned to accidentally pass out amongst a misfit pile of reject pots. 

He sat up slowly. Eyelevel to where he sat, on top of one of his clay blocks still wrapped in paper, was another figurine. 

This time it was an otter seal pup.

-

His next note read: _I assume you like tea if you are Iroh’s nephew._

_What did the one tea cup to say to the other?_

Below, he drew two tea cups. One was meant to be Sokka, his face confused with a question mark above it. The other cup hid behind a tin of rice biscuits, expressionless.

On the back, he flipped it over and scribbled the joke, chuckling to himself as he did so: 

_Can’t we all just get Oolong?_

-

“Don’t you think this is going too far?” His sister frowned at him. There was a smudge of blue ink across her face. 

Since Sokka’s departure, their living room returned to being her de-facto studio. He was perched on a ladder surrounded by several tubs of water, one of which Katara was gently manipulating the patterns in the ink. Momo snoozed on his lap, belly fully from all the fruit he stole out of Sokka’s bowl. 

“Yes,” he snapped at her. “Are you kidding? It’s nearly the full moon - that makes two cycles and I haven’t met this guy. But I’m starting to think he’s more than just...busy, or shy.”

“What makes you think he’s not a total weirdo?” She raised a brow. His sister, ever the pragmatic communicator. “I mean, he reads the notes, he takes them - but no response?”

“Oh, I definitely think he’s a total weirdo,” he acquiesced. “I just am starting to consider if there’s a reason for it.” 

“Well, there’s no doubt in that,” Katara said. “Maybe he used to be in the war. Hasn’t Iroh said anything at all?”

“No, nothing,” Sokka said. The war theory did make sense for a recluse, but it certainly didn’t make him feel better about the entire situation. “Honestly, I have no idea about any of this.”

For some reason, he didn’t mention the figurines. He didn’t want to think as to why. 

“How’s Aang? Where is he again - ?”

“He’s back in the Fire Nation capital, wrangling with their new council over the colonies again. Peace talks haven’t been the best. They colonies are demanding their own government now, separate from the capital.”

He frowned. After a few years of semi-successful negotiations, the tremblings of political and economic strife once again began to stir, and Aang, far younger than was fair, became the center of these talks. It meant long hours of endless communication and travelling all over the four kingdoms, speaking with farmers and high officials alike. Though Aang had been trained for this since he was a child, the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and it took its toll. 

“When is he coming back?” He asked.

Katara dropped her hands with a sigh. 

“I’ve received news from the South Pole that I am to be assigned as a ‘neutral’ Water tribe ambassador to two of the main colonies and the capital.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know - until it’s sorted, I guess.”

He balked. “So - what? You’re just gonna leave for some undefined amount of time and - Dad okayed this? I mean, what about your studies? And your life here? You’ve barely been here a year. We all agreed the deal was three - ”

“I know, Sokka,” she interrupted him angrily, her mouth drawn in a thin line, eyes welling with frustrated tears. She didn’t cry. “But what am I supposed to do? Aang’s over there alone with a bunch of advisors, only some of which are capable of resisting corruption, and it was a nice dream, you know, to come here, take a break, maybe - start over again, figure out - I don’t know. With the way things have been these last few months, you can’t be that surprised. This is just how it is with our family.”

Sokka was moved by her words, a boiling surge of emotions inside of him at once, most prominent of them being fear, fear of the mounting evidence that their lives existed only in the vacuum of endless strife and the looming threat of war; the feeling of watching his sister leave again; of never hearing from his father; of the fragmented memory of his mother; fear of not quite knowing how to rid his soul of ghosts, but learning, piecemeal, to exist with them. There was an acute horror to imagine this cycle would never end. 

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “It’s still not fair. But I know you have to do what you have to do. And if things start getting out of hand - Write me at once and I’ll be there.”

“I can take care of myself, brother.”

“Why do you think I’m talking about you? I’m referring to myself.”

He was spared by her smile, and then laughed, waking Momo from his slumber. 

Katara was right because she was always right. They both needed her to be right about this too. No one wanted another war like the one in his father’s youth; it only ended with senseless suffering and the last Avatar’s death. It was their collective responsibility to uphold that sacrifice by ensuring a time of peace. Easier said than done. 

-

Sokka woke soaked in sweat, in the middle of the night. He was burning up, and his skin was crawling. The laboured breathing in the room was his, and he sat up, chest heaving, holding himself close. There was grew a searing pain in his breastbone, heart working furiously.

He dreamt of Yue the night she died. He tremors with the memory. The way her face glowed in the dark, cradled by his hands. They way she looked at him and she knew she was dying, and she told him she loved him anyway, and he - 

They were just children, he thinks regretfully. And yet the universe fated them together anyway, and they were ransacked, haplessly, by the weight of their feelings for each other. Sokka, never too spiritual before, knew at once a force larger than his soul was at work here. 

But that's the trade when you fall in love with unearthly creatures. Yue was from another world; her body betwixt'd with the spirit of the moon. Of course there was powers bigger than the one pouring from his heart. 

Sweat ran down his back. He was suffocating. 

He slid his window open and crawled out. The rain from earlier made the garden balmy and cool on his skin, the moss damp between his toes as he wandered around to the back where the pond was. There were two koi fish there, and he wanted to see if they were swimming under the moonlight.

The moon was full and swollen with light, and it glowed mercifully down on him. He stood there for a long time, just breathing.

Eventually, tiredness won over. He turned around to look into the darkened glass of the atrium, and then he immediately froze. 

_There he was_. Half concealed in shadow and the ghostly statues was his roommate. Sokka watched him move slowly about the room. He was tall - taller than him, maybe, with straight dark hair that hung to his shoulders. The moon cast a luminescent halo around his pale skin, body composed of intense angles and lines. 

What was he doing wandering around the studio? Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? He moved with the ease of someone unaware he was being watched, slinking around like a street cat in the dark. Sokka was mesmerised by the faint outline of his existence, and like a moth to a flame, unconsciously drew closer.

In a matter of seconds it was all over. The roommate was already gone. 

-

The next morning he woke feeling as if he had just fallen asleep moments before. The apartment was drafty and filled with uninspired gray light. Even the green foliage in the garden surrounding seem flattened by the rain. 

He eyed the pile of cups and vases glazed and waiting for the kiln with resigned exhaustion. Then his gaze narrowed in on what was on top of the kiln. There sat two perfect tea cups, their insides filled with pale painted liquid, left there just for him. Instead of filling him with fascination, it further burrowed him in doubt again. What was this guy’s deal?

All he wanted was to go to sleep. His head was killing him, and his nerves felt frayed around the edges, vacillating between thinking about his sister leaving, his nightmare last night, and the lingering unease of having seen Suki recently. 

He thought about going over to ask Aang what he should do, but he saved himself the trip. He knew what Aang would say: It was time to take a rest day. 

He crawled back into bed, listening to the pittering of the rain outside until it faded behind the buffer of sleep. 

-

When he awoke, it was dark again. His bladder was full, and he excused him to the chambers to relieve it before turning back to his room. It was dark and quiet, and it prevented him from fully waking up. He stepped over a tea tray left in the hallway without considering it. The hollow feeling in him returned, making it impossible to string together more than a few thoughts together before they slithered away again. 

The days after full moons could be like this. Before it had been much worse, even when he was with Suki. But then the body could only carry so much. The heart was only a heart, and muscle was only muscle, and blood was only blood. 

He crawled back into bed and tried not to think about it anymore. 

-

The next time he stirred, his mouth was terribly dry, tasted like two days of sour sleep, and he was ravenous. His stomach wailed and protested inside of him. He stared at the seams in the window for a long few minutes, watching the leaves outside flutter against the glass, and then he finally heaved himself of bed. 

The lingering afternoon sun cast the world inside his room a golden hue, bathing his walls with a soft orange filter. Already the shadows had begun to encroach in the corners, pulling inward. But no matter, for it was enough; the pinpricks of hope bled through his thoughts. 

He was not prepared for what he found on the other side of the door, and he yelped loudly when he was met with a stranger holding a tea tray, glasswear clinking shrilly. 

Sokka glowered at him, heart racing, and he realised he was staring at his roommate in the flesh. Half shrouded in the shadow of the dark hallway, he was dressed in maroon and his hair was parted in front of his face. His expression was unfriendly and embarrassed. 

“You!” he exclaims. The roommate takes a half step back. “What are you doing? Hiding right outside of my door?”

“I’m not hiding,” the roommate replied. “If I was, you wouldn’t see me.”

“Unimportant - besides the point! You scared the spirits out of me. What do you think you’re - wait, is that tea? And jam?” He had finally noticed what he was holding. “Are you - bringing me _food_?”

For some reason, this suggestion seemed to greatly irritate his roommate. He scoffed. “You - you know, it’s extremely inconsiderate to just hole up in your room when you’re that unwell, without letting anyone know. One of your friends came by yesterday looking for you.”

Shit. Which one? How many days has it been? He thought it was just a day - and a half - technically, and surely no one would have assumed he was - ? 

“Which friend? Did you talk to them? Did they see you?” He blurted.

His roommate raised one arched eyebrow, unimpressed. “Considering they were blind, no, they don’t see me. But she seemed to sense I was there because she started barking orders into the letter box that I better see to it that you were at least hydrated.”

Sokka chuckled despite himself, hands covering his face in embarrassment. “Dammit, Toph - ” he sighed.

Her forceful delegation was a cover for actual concern. She’d witnessed Sokka in some pretty bad states throughout their friendship.

“It’d been three days,” his roommate continued in a scathing voice. “You weren’t on your regular schedule, or eating, or drinking water. I was forced to take some kind of action.”

Sokka paused, unsure how to process all this information at once.

“I can’t help but point out it’s pretty hypocritical to accuse _me_ of being inconsiderate, when you’re the one hiding out all the time. I was starting to think you wanted to pretend I didn’t exist anyway.”

His roommate blanched, and it did churn some satisfaction in him - good, he should feel embarrassed, because Sokka was right, dammit - and then he said, very quietly, his shoulders tense and drawn: “I’m disfigured. I didn’t want to scare you.”

The bottom of Sokka’s stomach dropped out. He took a half step closer, to which his roommate moved half step back, further eclipsed in the darkness. 

“You wouldn’t scare me,” he said quietly. “We all went through the war. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.” 

There was a considerable pause, which he inferred meant that his roommate did not agree. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” his roommate snarled. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“Okay, maybe I don’t,” he conceded. “I’m sorry.”

They both stood there in the doorway. Finally his roommate passed him the tray, the dishes clattering roughly in the transfer, and with a gruff voice, said, “We can just pretend this never happened.”

“I disagree,” Sokka shook his head. “We live together, are we just going to ignore each other?”

He watched his roommate’s receding back, his long hair swishing behind him. An undercurrent of electricity ran through him, and he panicked: this couldn’t be the end of the encounter, not after all this time….

“If you actually want nothing to do with me, then why leave me the turtleduck?” He blurted. “You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t want to interact. At least on some level.”

His roommate froze, shoulders tense again. 

Sokka let his plea bleed through his tone. “Won’t you at least give me your name?”

Then his shoulders slumped forward. “It’s Zuko.”

He didn’t offer anything else before hurrying around the corner, and Sokka was left standing there with a tray full of cold tea and rice biscuits, lost in thought.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. The second part is almost finished and will be posted very soon.
> 
> Uncle Iroh's little speech is inspired in part by the late, great philosopher-poet John O'Donohue, who I think Iroh would have appreciated. 
> 
> Pixie Tree - Bonsai tree in this world. 
> 
> Chat with me on tumblr at @odeto-psyche 
> 
> I also made a collage for it! If I can figure out how to make that work with the story, I'll put it up.


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